


Adventure Inn

by suhdude



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band), Ghost B.C., Ghost BC
Genre: Blood, Other, Penetration, Porn With Plot, Sex, Smut, emphasis on both fucking and boxer lmao, hand stuff, honestly maybe too much explination of a fight scene, listen, oran, papa is a fucking boxer, sometimes, you just gotta love yourself and write wildly self indulgent shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 10:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15772590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suhdude/pseuds/suhdude
Summary: I'm a smut writer who has been doing a slowburn, let me make this pope half naked and covered in blood





	Adventure Inn

A tooth flew from the makeshift ring, whizzing past your ear. 

It wasn’t often you watched bareknuckle boxing, but, you had taken a gamble with a new inn and bar and had gotten much more than you bargained for. 

“Be more adventurous” you had said “life can’t keep passing you by!” 

What did you know anyway? You had accepted a strange invitation from the barkeep to a fight in a cellar, what did you expect? A pony? In your defense, the place did smell reminiscent of the wrong end of a horse. The floor did have small hay mats to match anyhow. 

You sat in the second row of chairs, some patrons leaned against the wood creating the oval in the middle of the room. A light coloured hardwood, heavily stained in some places more than others. There had also been seating in the rafters with tables, evident by the falling of torn bets and occasional spill of drink.

One thing that couldn’t be beat were the prices of the food. Given the sport in progress, it seemed a little odd, but, you were sure the prices of the drink and the cuts the venue got for hosting and bets would be plenty to cover them. You thought better of thinking too much into as you took a bite. Salty. Extremely salty. You sipped on your drink to stop the cough that threatened your throat. 

The crowd roared as one man straddled the other, fight devolving as he pulled his hair to keep him in place. You adjusted. 

“Next fight starting soon, haven’t seen you get in on the action so far, placin a bet?” A woman with an apron filled with cash, coin, and betting papers asked, leaning down to you.   
Her words smelled of peppermint in the grungy room. 

“Um...who’s up next?” You said, voice nearly drowned by the crowd’s uproar. 

“We have Mack the Hammer and an out of towner, supposed to be an exhibition for Mack,” she studied your face, “you know, set him up on an easy opponent, opponent gets the shit kicked out of him, more people show up for Mack.”

You looked back to the ring, the man who had been on top now lay beneath, breathing hard, trying to throw the man off of him. You weren’t sure if any of it was really bareknuckle but, given the crowd, you weren’t about to single yourself out by asking. 

“Last call,” she called out, “Odds are twelve to one for the traveler!” 

People laughed at the call, obviously sure their man would win, not wanting to waste their time nor money. 

“Wait!” you beckoned the woman as she turned to leave. You quickly pulled money from your pocket. She gave you a confused look then shrugged, accepting the cash and filling out a bill. You nearly passed out yourself as you looked at the slip. You had handed her much more than you intended, she was out of eyeshot by the time you stopped stumbling around your own tongue enough to talk. You remembered why you didn’t adventure. 

The sounds of the referee calling the winner swam in your ears, not processing in the chaos of the room and your mind. You watched blearily as one man was pulled from the ring. 

You were near death again as sound began to resonate in your ears. Into the wood enclosed ring walked a behemoth of a man. To say eloquently, built like a brick shithouse.   
Hands shaking, you looked at your bet again. You had a snowball’s chance in hell the man you had bet on would be bigger or broader than, who based on the cheering, you assumed was Mack.

Resigning to your fate, you folded the slip and put it in your pocket. The monster named Mack turned to shake hands with some of the ringside fans, waving at those in the special seating. Back sliding down in your seat, you perked only a bit to watch as his opponent walked into the ring. 

He wore a wool suit. People laughed at the neat man as he removed his coat and vest, folding them before setting them on the side of the ring. He pulled his shirt lazily over his head, as if getting ready for bed. He folded it to, beckoning one of the nearby servers to set it in a seat that was newly unoccupied. As he did, he rested an elbow on the side of the ring nonchalantly. His opponent looked none too pleased. 

“Come on old man!” A voice called from above.

The man nodded his head, then bent down to remove his shoes. You watched as the toned muscle of his back moved. Small scars were visible on the aging man’s skin. He placed   
the shoes on the side of the ring, saying something else to the server before turning to Mack. 

The ox of a man looked annoyed by his opponent’s time taking. 

The referee walked to the middle of the ring. 

“On this side,” he boomed, motioning to Mack, “We have our winn- sorry that’s for later!” Everyone around you laughed. “We have the man, the myth, the legend, born in this very inn, the immortal, Mack, the Hammer!” 

A chorus of Mack filled the room, bouncing off the stone walls. It was easy to see why he was nicknamed the hammer. When he raised one fist in the air and paced it was as though he had a tree trunk supporting a sledge hammer head. 

“And his soon to be cadaver, we have…” the referee turned to the older man. Eyes followed. The man spoke something you couldn’t quite hear. The man announcing laughed and shook his head. “We have a traveler named Papa Emeritus!” 

People hissed, obviously more in favour of their home-grown champion. Something about this “Emeritus” intrigued you. You scooted forward a bit. If you were going to lose your money for the next two months, you might as well enjoy this fight.

The fighters began towards the center. The one called Papa offered his hand, Mack scowled and gave him the up and down before smacking the hand. Papa nodded, looking unimpressed. 

The fight started with a step forward from Mack and no motion from Papa. The crowd continued laughing. 

Mack moved his sizable arms to put Papa in a lock, Papa countered in a way that had the men grasping at the back of each other’s heads, knees bending to try and gain some ground. One mighty step from Mack, and another, then a swing of his torso and the smaller man was off the ground, rag dolling to the side of the ring when released. Howls of laughter. You stood bolt upright to try and follow the flight path of the man you had bet on. His back was to the side of the ring, tilted just far enough away from you that you couldn’t see his face fully. Moving a bit closer, you noticed how it seemed his nose was crooked, though, long since healed. Papa tensed and relaxed his hands before regaining his footing and dusting his pants off. Mack had turned but the change in the crowd left him to curiously look over his shoulder. Papa bowed and smirked. Mack growled, marching back to the smaller man, winding a hand back. 

Mack let one colossal hand come down across the face of Papa, knocking him to the ground again. Papa sat a moment, shook his head, and got back on his feet. Bemusement plastered Mack’s face, then rage. It seemed as though no one had had the audacity to get back up before. 

With a great swinging movement, Mack’s now closed fist came down to strike Papa. You questioned if your fighter had a death wish, he didn’t even flinch as the colossal fist struck him down across the face. 

He stumbled back to where he had been before the fight, leaning against the ring. Mack didn’t give him a moment this time, pursuing him and using one of his monstrance hands to hold him in place as the other pummeled him with body shots. You could hear Papa cough as he struggled to breath, even over the cheers of the crowd, you rushed to ringside to watch closer, abandoning the overly salted food and the remainder of your overpriced drink. 

You watched as Mack backed off, looking at his own fist before raising it. Blood. You looked to Papa, his nose had blood dripping from it and down his body. His body itself seemed to be bleeding and when he turned to grab something from one of the servers, you saw how his back had been scrapped on the wood he had been pinned to. You noticed more scars as the blood created a stronger contrast. You inhaled deeply, Mack paraded, Papa thanked the server as he downed a glass of dark liquid. 

Papa’s eyes met yours as he surveyed the crowd. You couldn’t hear what he said to the server as he continued to look at you, but, the wink he threw your way was clear as a bell.   
He wiped under his nose with the back of his forearm, taking a moment to admire the crimson trail that now adorned him. He grinned. The room fell silent as Papa whistled through his teeth. 

Mack again turned, this time, he was greeted with the sight of Papa with his fists up and legs in a fighter’s stance. Mack snarled. Papa egged him forward with a motion of his head. Steam could have come out of the mountainous man’s ears and you wouldn’t be surprised as his face was red hot. 

He went after Papa, both arms raised, a half tilt jog. Papa swooped out of the way, leaving Mack to plow into the barrier. Howling from the crowd in their surprise. The server you had seen next to Papa appeared next to you, offering you a drink. You accepted, eyes returning to the ring in time to see Mack face his opponent again. 

On his next approach he went full tilt, roaring with the crowd, arm pulled back for another strike. When he swung, he swung hard, but Papa moved with him. He avoided contact with his fist, but, guided the hook to the side by pushing Mack’s elbow after the fist passed. Papa’s eyes met yours as Mack stumbled. He raised his eyebrows as if looking for a reply. You mouthed thank you. You took a drink. Papa bowed in time to dodge another swing. It was hard not to be taken aback by the bleeding man’s confidence. Even if he had every right to it.

The power of his own swing had spun Mack slightly. Papa stepped on the back of his opponents bent knee then the small of his back, bouncing slightly and landing with his legs over the humungous man’s shoulders. Once seated, he locked his fingers together and pulled up on Mack’s chin. Gasps mingled with the hollers as Papa began to steer the flailing giant. Legs crossing and holding tight, you watched Papa in amazement while his foe bounced off the stained wood walls. 

Eventually, one of Mack’s hands got hold of the back of Papas neck, pulling him forward. Violently, Mack leaned forward to throw Papa off his back. As though in slow motion, you watched Papa release his hold, turn his arm back, bend his knees, and create a new vice grip with one arm around the neck of Mack with his arm. The momentum fueled the move.   
Papa’s feet hit the ground. Mack’s left it. Huge form flying, Mack’s own might threw him over the old man’s shoulder. The ground shook and so did your eardrums when he hit the floor, a crack ringing clear. A breeze hit you and Papa hit Mack. One knee on either side of the hammers head, Papa began to lay it on Mack. Fists flew like the dust did as Mack’s head bounced against the dirt floor of the ring. 

Mack’s hands shook at his sides. They rose. Mack began to rise, hands now on Papas legs, keeping him in place. 

Papas hands gripped at the hair of Mack. You watched the two men as the phenom they were, Blood dripped between them, it was hard to tell who’s was where. 

At his full height, Mack’s hands moved to swing Papa off of him, but, he stood still when Papa slapped hard inward on Mack’s ears. Mack stumbled, grip on Papa failing. Papa wriggled a moment the way a mouse does from a hole. Hands gripping hair hard, Papa arched and swung his legs over Mack’s shoulder. Again Mack’s neck found a place in the crook of Papa’s elbow. 

Momentum and Papa seemed equally hard to stop. 

A great crashing happened as Mack’s head hit the barrier, Papa narrowly missing it as he completed the move by sliding under Mack’s stiff form. Papa released and rolled away as Mack’s form went limp. 

You could have heard a pin drop. Papa stood up, dusted off his pants, and picked up one of Mack’s hands. When he stopped supporting it, it clattered to the ground. If it weren’t for the heaving of the now unconscious mountains chest, you would think him dead. 

Awestruck, the referee moved to Papa, and raised his hand in victory. Covered in blood, bruises blooming, nose knocked out of place, Papa winked at you before leaving the ring. Shock dissipating, the crowd rushed to see Mack. In the commotion you lost track of your fighter. You drained your drink, set the glass on the bloodied wood edge, and began your wading through the stream of people. 

The lady you had placed the bet with snagged your arm and drew you up the stairs back into the main part of the Inn. 

“That’s a hell of a winning, a hell of one, fuck, you want the money before you head out or can you wait a bit till I get shit sorted?”

Your eyes wandered, unsure what was real. You spotted a bloody form hunched over a table in the dining area. 

“Yeah.” You managed, “Yeah, I’ll stick around.” 

“Alrighty, if you need a room we’ve got a few still open, tell the desk Lydia said she would pick it up, that way I’ll know where to find you. Fuck. Kitchen is open if you need grub.”

With that, she was gone. Nothing thus far seemed to make sense, so, you walked over to the man who sat bleeding at a table. 

Upon seeing you, he straightened up a bit. On the table sat an empty dirty plate and a half full glass. The chair across from where you stood held the remainder of his clothes. He motioned you to sit, so, you did. In the ring you wondered if it were a trick of the light, but here, you could see how wildly different his eyes really were. They seemed unbelievably kind and hard at the same time. It sent a chill down your spine. You averted your eyes. 

“How are you?” you asked, looking over his sweat and blood-soaked body. His nose had been reset, though, it was still very obviously broken.

“Bloody.” he said, lifting his glass to his mouth and draining it. He waved to the barkeep and held up two fingers. They quickly poured and brought the liquor over. 

Glass shining before you, you snagged a napkin from a wrapped set of cutlery. It draped nicely along your finger before you dipped it in the drink Papa slid to you. Confusion twanged in his eye before a sting struck the cut on his head when you pressed the napkin to it. You blotted the wound with the alcohol. A quick glance showed most the blood on his chest had begun to dry so you didn’t bother. 

The napkin fell onto the table top. 

“Can you follow my finger with your eyes?” You asked, raising a digit to check his responses.

“I can do anything you want me to.” His voice oozed charisma. You inhaled sharply. The room smelled of firewood. His eyes seemed to react fine. 

“Are you seeing double?” you asked.

“As much as I would like to see two of you, there is only one.” His words were honey. You bit your lip. 

“You took quite a few hard blows, you sure you’re seeing straight?” you pressed. 

“Nothing I’ve ever done has been completely straight.” He grinned.

“Are you serious about anything?”

“You.” His reply took you aback a bit. Your eyes wandered a bit, checking for anymore obvious injuries. “You going to look over every inch of me?” he questioned back. 

“If you let me.” You said, looking at him through your own eyelashes. 

“You don’t do anything half way than, do you?” he flirted. 

“No.” you replied. “And the only straight I am is to the point.” 

“Glad to hear you don’t mess around.”

“Given the right reason I may mess around a bit.” You replied, picking the napkin back up to blot a suspect mark. 

Papa’s eyebrow climbed up as he watched you. “Oh.” He remarked. “Well, may I be frank with you?”

“I like you fine as Papa Emeritus, but sure, be frank.” 

Papa grinned. “Have you ever fucked someone right after he beat a man out of consciousness with his bare hands?”

You pretended to think for a moment, heart pounding your ribs. “No.”

“Would you like to?”

 

His lips tasted like iron and ethanol when they met yours in the dim lantern light of his room at the inn. A soft glow bounced from the polished pine floors. You made sure to lock the door behind yourself, his hands tossing the clothes and shoes near the dressing table. Lips meeting each other again, his hand snaked around you back, drawing you closer.   
The other cupped the side of your face gently. His hands were scared, touch tender. Your own hands rested on his chest. The thrum of his heart was steady, the drying blood sticky, muscles, though separated by a small cushion of fat, obvious under your fingertips. 

Your mouth left his. First, you placed a gentle peck beside his mouth, then his chin, trailing his jaw, then turning his head to kiss at his neck. His throat was hot, the noise that left him when you sucked it gently was hotter. He bore his neck more as your nose pressed in too. You could feel the ridges of scars as you continued placing kissed along him. His collarbone held the scent of blood and sandalwood and a long prominent scar. You let your hands trail further down, groping him over his trousers. 

Papa’s index found itself under your chin, pulling you back to his mouth. Your tongue and his met each other when the kiss resumed. His hands trailed, settling near your throat as he began to undo the buttons of your shirt. You pressed closer to him, he put a leg between yours. You sighed. Cool air hit your chest. Papa’s mouth was hot as it pressed closer to your own. His enthusiasm was evident as you stroked it through his pants. He ground his leg between yours. Head tilting back at the sensation, he seized the opportunity with gusto and your chest with his mouth. 

Your hand left his crotch. His hands grabbed at your ass, pulling you onto him. He backed you against the dressing table, polished wood pressed where his hands had been. Your hand trailed back to stroke his wood. 

“Not yet,” he cooed. Mouth trailing down. You scooted back onto the table slightly, bracing yourself as his mouth trailed down further. On one knee in front of you, he undid your pants, shimming them down to your ankles. 

His eyes were filled with lust when they met yours, hungry, but needing permission. You nodded, he held contact as his lips pressed to one inner thigh then the other. A chill shook you. His hand on your thigh was hot yet aided the goosebumps forming along you. He kissed you gingerly. You ached for more.   
“Please.” You gasped, anticipation getting to you. Hips thrust forward on instinct alone as his tongue slipped from his mouth to drag up you. Swears slid from your mouth as his tongue did from his. Sultry and obscene. 

Papa seemed just as ruthless in the bedroom as the ring. Loving a show. You could feel his eyes on you, watching, waiting, as he worked. You let your head lol down to watch when he took his mouth from you. The move was just in time to watch him slide a finger from his mouth and into you. Sliding the pantleg off one leg, you draped the leg over his shoulder. He grinned, blood on one tooth from a cut on his lip, and added a finger, curling it, watching you. You moaned. His mouth set back to work, as the knot in your guts became more apparent, your leg pulled him closer. 

His pace stayed steady. It was slow but dizzying. He lapped at you as the ocean does the shore, fingers curling like the waves. Steady, unrelenting, it wasn’t long before it became too much, you let go. He continued until he was sure the crest had passed. 

You were greeted by his mouth trailing back up you, his breathing almost as labored as your own. He smelled musky. Tasted it too. You could feel your own heat as his lips pressed back to yours. You felt his teeth against your lip as his desperation grew. You felt something else had grown as well as your hand trailed back down. You undid the clasp of the pants with one hand, struggling with it for hardly a second. It wasn’t hard to get them the rest of the way off, though, other things certainly were.   
Papa shuddered as you rubbed his pre-cum down his shaft, stroking his erect cock experimentally. His mouth again found our neck, his own hand dipped down to return the   
sensation. 

“And you aren’t too hurt?” you murmured, remembering the condition he was in. 

“If I were, I wouldn’t have my hands here.” He said, curling his fingers for emphasis, rubbing you with his thumb to drive his point home. “And you, are you alright?”

“Better than.” You mumbled, head swimming at the sensations trailing through you. Papa hummed contently, vibrations sending a new chill down your spine. 

Pleasuring each other manually was almost enough. Almost. You edged the rest the way off the dressing table, Papa’s mouth again finding yours. You continued to stroke him as you backed him to the bed. Papa stepped out of his pants. His ass met the soft comforter, his hand held your ass, guiding you to place your knees on either side of him. His hands rested on your hips. His chest glowed crimson in the light, scars glaring at you. You kissed him again. Metallic notes filled your nose. 

Hands on your hips, he guided you to grind against him. Even without penetration, it seemed as though you had never been so close to someone in your life. His mouth delicately pressed to your neck, taking time from kissing just long enough to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. Papa let his hips lift to press back on yours. Movement became easier as   
the two of you continued, arousal leaving you each slick. 

In a swift move, Papa laid down on the bed properly, you still straddled, but he had one leg up to support your ass. Chests rubbing together, you leaned down, pinning his hands above his head. You held them there with one hand. You knew he could move if he wanted, but, the only movement he offered as you worked was the slow rise and fall of his chest. You wiggled your hips slightly. Unsatisfied, you let your free hand stroke him again. He moaned. Low. Breathy. His cock was pulsing in your grasp, so, you adjusted your hips to just tease him with the proposal of entering you. His eyes met yours. Searing. A grin pulled at your lips. Dripping head at your entrance, you pressed back on him. His hands stayed in place above his head after you released them, needing your own hands to steady yourself. 

Moans became more frequent as you adjusted, lowering and rising as discomfort of the stretch dissolved in the pleasure. Back pressed to the knee he had bent to support you, you let your hips roll. His mirrored yours. You pulled up, his pressed further to the mattress, you ground down, he pressed up to meet you. Papa let his hands leave the place above his head in favour of touching you again. One explored you as his eyes did, the other ventured low to stroke you. You trembled under his touch. 

Speed began to build as desperation grew. Once soft whispers turned to pleas. He rolled your nipple between his thumb and his index. You leaned forward slightly, bracing yourself against his abdomen. The glow let you truly see the ripples of the skin. The scars looked like whitecaps in a red sea, ominous and hypnotic. 

Papa sucked a harsh breath through his teeth when you buckled forward. He hit a tender spot in you, and you pressed a sore spot on him. Instead of slowing, he continued to buck up to you as he moved the offending hand to a spot on the pillow next to his head. The new leverage let you move harder against each other. 

It was obvious how much closer your climax drew as the two of you moved, once calculated movements were now erratic. Your eyes met his again. A fire ignited in you, you felt yourself release again. 

Quick as a bullet, he slipped his hand under yours and intertwined your fingers, the one that had been stroking you moved to the small of your back. Like a dancer, he switched you. Your back hit the soft mattress as his hips pressed harder. The shadows cast in the new position emphasized every move, it was if he were a new person. Your back arched as pleasure coursed through you, aiding him in stroking the pleasure point inside of you. Papa’s hand left yours, both hands now at your hips again. As though you weighed nothing, he pulled you to meet his thrusts. Strong rough fingers dug into you. Having had the position change happen so quickly, your legs were still bent in the way they had been when you rode him, now serving to open you up more. 

Papa grunted as he continued, your releases now so close together you could hardly keep track. Everything was pure pleasure. The air itself tasted and smelled of lust. Head swimming in pure bliss, you found rapture in the fighter. At one of your climaxes, he found release in you. He was a masterpiece when he came, head thrown back, mouth searching for something, hands tensing to hold you close. 

His hips slowed as he pressed his body to yours, milking every last drop of pleasure from you. Neck bared to him, he kissed it tenderly. Warmth, in the light, in the luck, in the company. You felt fulfilled.

**Author's Note:**

> its different but hey, thats the way the nut busts.


End file.
